


Raise You From Perdition

by SineMetu



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Canon Universe, Confessions, Coping, Dean Says Yes, Dean Winchester is Saved, Destiel - Freeform, Emotional Castiel, Emotional Sam Winchester, Gen, Love Confessions, M/M, Mild Sam/Rowena, Post-Canon, PostSeason13, Protectiveness, Psychological Torture, Recovery, Trauma, Winchester Coping Mechanisms, sexual healing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-20
Updated: 2018-11-23
Packaged: 2019-06-30 00:25:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15740361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SineMetu/pseuds/SineMetu
Summary: The hardest part about saving Dean from Micheal wasn’t the task itself, but the worry of what he would be like when they did.How do you save a man who doesn't want to be saved?Love him, until he does.





	1. Prologue

The hardest part about saving Dean from Micheal wasn’t the task itself, but the worry of what he would be like when they did. It had been the unspoken ‘elephant in the room’, oppressively bleeding through in the looks Sam and Castiel had shared since Dean’s departure.

 

Now, they just hoped their plan would be enough. Standing in the war room, Sam worried more than ever as D-Day was approaching.

 

“No one gets to take away the people I love anymore. I love Dean and I will stop at nothing to get him back. Even it means going through all of you to do it!” Sam smiled as Cas spat the words with venom, a chill in the room as everyone quieted.

 

He and Cas were finally on the same page, despite a bunker full of people.

 

They had exhausted all of the Men of Letters resources, its books and its files. They had everything they needed now as Sam held his ground against the faces of people he loved--people he now resented for their plans that disregarded Dean. His only ally was, once again, Castiel, and the knowledge that Jack would always choose them.

 

“Then it’s settled. We will retrieve Dean, and once we do--you can all do with Michael as you please. Rowena will trap him in an empty, warded vessel like we did with Lucifer. After that, I really don’t care.” Sam glared at the faces around the room with rage flowing through his veins, his hands shaking.

 

The faces that stared back at him all _looked_ like the people they’d lost all those years ago, but the ‘other’ universe had taken all the warmth from them that he had grown to love. They weren’t the same people. They weren’t his family.

 

They never were.

 

“When this is over, everybody gets the hell out of here or I’ll let Castiel remove you, by _force._ ” Sam’s voice was thick with promise, unwavering as it filled the room. His eyes challenged his mother’s without apology as she stared at him in bewilderment before walking away.

 

Despite the years between them or what it was that Dean believed about himself, the eldest Winchester was the glue that held their little family together, even when it was falling apart at times. Somehow from day one, Dean, in the end, was the voice of hope, reason, and the will to keep going long after everyone else could not.

 

Dean was the basis for why they stayed together. Always brought back to one another, even when they wanted to run. 

 

He was always the leader, unable to let anyone quit, even when it seemed hopeless. Dean was too stubborn to give up on them, even when the facts were solid. Never one to completely lose hope or faith in Sam, Castiel and now Jack.

 

They had learned from the best, and it was time for Sam and Cas to remind Dean just how far they would go for him, even if it hurt. They chose the hardest road, determined to win and Sam would die before someone cost him the one person who mattered most.

 

They were getting Dean back, their home and when it was over--Sam prayed that somehow, maybe they could finally just leave this life behind them. For good.

 

He couldn’t lose anyone again. Especially Dean, Cas and Jack, and Sam was going to make sure that none of them ever gave themselves for him like Gabriel did.

 

Sam slammed the door to Dean’s bedroom before closing his eyes.

 

_Never again._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello reader :)  
> I apologize to mobile users, I have double checked Ch 1 to see why there are broken link images on the page, but in the edit, I cannot see any issues. I am really sorry for that but there is no other image to see I'm afraid. I am assuming it is a glitch out of my control but I appreciate it being pointed out to me!  
> ~S.M


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates will come as soon as possible. Things have to go back and forth between betas. My apologies.
> 
> I just wanted to say thank you for the feedback this has gotten and for those sharing it around. I hope you like the direction it is taking.

Sometimes Sam just needs space. A lot of space.

 

That’s the nice thing, he figures, about the bunker being sort of halfway to nowhere, but also halfway to everything they need--there just isn’t anyone around.

 

Swigging from the bottle, Sam lets the sound of his boots against the silent road remind him that he’s that much closer to somewhere else. Somewhere maybe closer to Dean and as far away as he can be right now from the strangers turning the faces from his memories into something twisted and unpleasant.

 

That’s not how he wants to remember them from before. Not when those people would have cared about Dean, despite a power-hungry Archangel behind the wheel.

 

Bobby would have done everything he could to save Dean. Bobby would have found something he hadn’t. Bobby would have…

 

Sam’s steps slow as the anger begins to subside some, replaced by the hollow feeling he knows all too well. The old Bobby probably would have something to say by now about his behavior, something to ease the pain shredding what was left of Sam’s humanity, his ability to care and still want to this job. He would give him some kind of hope in Sam’s moment of doubt. Sam’s shoulders sag as he swallows down the tightness in his throat.

 

What if they never get Dean back?

 

By the time Sam has run out of daylight, that question is all he can think about while there is a significant ache in his back, a burning in his thighs. The liquor just isn’t strong enough this time to feel anywhere near okay, to make anything feel like it’s even going to be. They’ve lost Gabriel, Jack is powerless and Chuck was never coming back. They were completely and utterly screwed if this didn't work.

 

Sighing, Sam’s stomach sits warm and heavy as he stares out into the navy skyline littered with stars and intermediate cloud cover. He hasn’t the foggiest idea where he ended up. Digging his cell phone out of his pocket, he rolls his eyes when the screen doesn’t illuminate.

 

“Figures you’d die now,” Sam bites out bitterly, dropping his phone between his legs where he sits on the neglected dew covered grass, “Everything else seems to.”  _ If only that was an exaggeration. _

 

The moon’s light is just bright enough where it hangs that the hunter can see the open space around him, take it in. Everything around him is still, quiet, other than the occasional cricket or car off in the distance as it passes. It unnerves him at the same time as it relaxes him, to be freed of the overcrowded bunker, and yet…his rage is still so loud despite leaving, echoing his sins, his losses and his fears.

 

Sam’s grip tightens around the neck of the bottle as his teeth clench. He can’t even call Dean’s cell just to hear his voice.

  
  


“It isn’t fair!”

  
  


The bottle smashes against the ground when the pain in his chest springs forth new, frustrated tears to his eyes. He’s practically panting, body rigid and hands trembling when headlights and the familiar rumble of Baby’s engine get his attention. She quiets as the shadows cast by her light fade back into the dark. She's ticking, engine warm and guilt settles inside him somewhere for not driving her since Dean left. For just leaving her sitting, neglected, like he was leaving everything else.

  
  


He shouldn’t be surprised Cas was the one to fetch him.

  
  


“You’re drunk,” Cas says accusingly, and Sam snorts, shaking his head as he teeters on the edge of hysterical tears.

  
  


“Great observational skills, Castiel. What? Do you want a cookie?” 

 

Cas narrows his eyes, Sam already regretting the words before he can stop them from rolling off his tongue. He winces slightly, a submission more than anything. Getting smote won’t help Dean, and Cas is hurting just as much as he is.

  
  


“M’sorry, Cas…I’m just...” he trails off, running a hand through his hair and huffing out a breath of frustration with himself. He’s just so fed up. Besides, nobody ever said he was a nice drunk and maybe he gets it from his old man, apple not falling from the tree and all that. He is a Winchester, after all. 

  
  


“Upset,” the angel finishes, and Sam nods sadly as he takes in the lines on Cas’ face, the way he looks just as tired as Sam feels. He can only describe the look in those azure eyes as heartache, and it’s one Sam knows more than he would like to admit.

 

Cas stuffs his hands inside his coat pockets, leaning his neck back to take in the view above them. He admires the way the stars sparkle, the way they’re scattered much like the freckles across Dean’s face are. No particular pattern but adding beauty to its backdrop anyways.

 

“I miss him too, Sam. More than you could ever know.” And for a single moment the falter, the pain in Cas voice makes the situation darker than ever before. He feels guilt for forgetting at times how much Castiel loves Dean too.

  
  


“We’re going to get him back, Cas.... We just have to locate Michael and then we can just get this friggin thing over with... I hope.” 

 

The hunters voice is full of promise and for a single moment, Castiel is reminded why both Winchester’s mean so much to him. Why he loves them both in different ways. Why Sam is important as well.

  
  


Closing his eyes, briefly missing the warmth Dean’s presence gives him, Cas turns to lift Sam to his feet and embrace him in a hug that catches Sam off guard. It’s awkward for a moment, the taller man stumbling. Cas can hear his breath catch at the contact, but soon Sam returns it with everything he feels.

  
  


Dean coming home feels closer than ever before.

  
  


“When I came to find you, I was surprised to see her still parked in the same spot...” 

 

Sam pulls away to wipe lingering tears from his eyelashes with a soft chuckle, “It didn’t feel right subjecting her to my mess when I left...besides, the walk did me some good till the bottle ran dry.” He shrugs before cracking a soft smile.

 

To Sam’s surprise the corners of Cas’ mouth curl upwards, his eyes a little brighter than before. “Like I said once before, nothing is worth losing you,  _ either of you _ , or any Winchester for that matter…but I worry because you’re my friend, Sam. My family. That’s what family does.” Castiel swallows, the moon giving his eyes a glassy look upon a sea of blue as Sam is taken aback. “I already lost Gabriel, Sam. I will not lose Dean, Jack or you, as well.”

 

Sam lowers his gaze, shifting awkwardly “I’m sorry about Gabriel,” and Cas can feel a familiar burn behind his eyes.

 

“I’m sorry you lost him too, Sam…and about Lucifer.” 

 

And Cas means it as Sam’s chest tightens, aches worse than before. He shakes his head, but it doesn’t stop everything from finally tipping over. Sam walks to the car without another word, trying to avoid Cas from seeing his downfall. He’s choking on how much he still hates that it was Lucifer who brought him back, like he was just never going to ever escape him.

  
  


Shutting Baby’s door, Sam is glad Dean doesn’t see the tears he’s shedding when the walls finally crumble around him. He buries himself against the door, leans into the familiar leather, and breathes in the smell of comfort as Cas quietly enters from the driver’s side. He doesn’t speak, but Baby rumbles to life beneath him as Cas turns on the heat to stop the chill Sam never realized had settled in from sitting on the ground, how damp his jeans are. To his surprise and comfort, Cas lays something heavy across his shoulders.

  
  


There’s no mistaking the smell, the familiarity of it.

  
  


Dean’s brown leather coat.

  
  


“I found it in the trunk. It was comforting when I had to collect myself before coming to see you...I wasn’t sure if I should take her without asking, so I rummaged around and fought with myself before realizing I didn’t know if anything else was driveable.” Sam thumbs the fabric lovingly as Cas exhales heavily. Sam stares at the dash, admiring the dust that Dean would just absolutely twitch over.

  
  


Sam shoves Dean’s favourite tape into the deck as its low volume fills the cab. “We haven’t driven her for a while…maybe we could just keep going for a bit? I’m not ready to go back there…” He realizes then just how small his voice sounds, how pleading it is. 

 

Thankfully without a word, Cas takes a left turn rather than a right. To Sam’s relief, the bunker fades into the miles behind them towards sunrise. Sam eventually finds he stills, sniffles less and Castiel finally relaxes as he does so. He hates crying.

  
  


“Tell me about Gabriel...” Sam eventually croaks as he watches Cas’ face twist at the songs that Sam knows he’s probably heard a thousand times, that probably remind him of Dean. He briefly wonders as he does so if angels have hearts that break over love like humans.  _ Is it less, or worse because they allowed themselves to feel it? _

 

Sam frowns as Cas clears his throat. “What would you like to know?” Cas responds, voice even as he visibly stiffens some, the road empty as the horizon grows a lighter shade of blue.

  
  


“Start at the beginning. What was he like when you first met him?” 

 

Cas smiles warmly, eyes still facing forward as Sam studies his profile in the shadow of their confines. “This is a long story, Sam...”

  
  


“It’s okay, there’s a lot of road to cover before we reach sunrise.” Cas nods in agreement and remembers the first time he walked the sands where humanity began.

  
  
  
  
  


Michael only ever gives Dean enough control over his own body when he kills someone.

 

Instead of the warmth of sunshine, or the feel of the cooling air at night as Michael moves them from place to place, all he allows Dean is to feel his judgement. The feeling of the organs he liquefies and the lives that stop existing beneath his palms. Along another city sidewalk, instead of the smells of exhaust and wafting food, it’s just death that he ever lets sink into Dean’s nostrils, the smell of iron, sweat.

 

When Michael's really out to get him, he rips the heart out first and refuses to let it go from his hand until it’s cold, forcing Dean to breathe in its scent as he lectures him about his previous sins, his failures as a human. Most of the time Michael just toyed with their victims, however, drawing out the darkness to drive Dean mad. Michael was charming, with all of Dean’s best lines, his best moves. He used everything in Dean’s head to lure them in, to charm them into conversations, situations where they wanted to help or just warm his bed…and then their bones would snap, the sound so loud and sickening. He would drag it out and all Dean could hear was their screaming before the sound of his own laugh would rise above it.

 

The Archangel kisses the tears of the children who remind Dean of Sam, away, some gesture of mockery to his brotherly love as the life drains from their eyes.

 

If Dean can ever get out of this, he will never eat salt or laugh again. He’s lost count of the victims now, of how much time has really passed.

 

He realizes he’s never going to close his eyes without seeing those people, or the walls and places Micheal painted their insides with. Dean figures he’s never going to be able to scrub the blood of them off his hands or the sin of this from whatever was left of his soul, if he still even had one.

 

This was worse than Hell ever was. He would go back a thousand times just to escape this.

 

Locked away in a dark corner, Dean covers his ears and lays his cheek against his knee. He’s so tired, he’s so defeated. He just wants everything to stop.

 

“Just leave me alone…please...” He doesn’t know why he still even bothers to try and plead, tears welling in his eyes as his throat burns and Michael's laughter echoes around him.

 

“I thought you’d like my last gift, Dean. After all, he had eyes just like your _ pathetic pet _ Castiel. Did you not enjoy the feeling of his kisses before he died gasping your name?” Dean’s shoulders heave, his breath warm against his leg.

 

_ If you can hear me, Cas, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry... _

 

“Praying does you no good, you know. Your God does not even hear you,” Michael hisses, wicked, and deranged. He knows the winged asshole inhabiting him is right, but Cas and Sam are all he has left, all he has to keep from losing that one last string of sanity that’s still his.

 

Dean closes his eyes as memories of anyone who resembled those that Dean cared about in any way, died with his hands on them, his own voice echoing things he would never say.

 

“ _ I’m the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition.” _

 

Dean begins to sob hysterically when the familiar voice whispers against his ear, warm hands around his midriff and a weight pressed against his back. It smells like Cas, it sounds like Cas, looks and feels like his Cas. 

 

Dean knows it isn’t, though, but just like before, he allows himself to pretend that this is real. He knows, in the end, he’ll be forced to kill Castiel, just like all the others, followed by Sam who will find him, until Michael gives him a break with a new victim.

 

Still…despite knowing all the bloody ways he’ll watch the man he loves die as he confesses his love, Dean clings to the angel he knows isn’t real. 

 

For just one second Dean fools himself into thinking he’s going to be okay. 

 

Dean falls that much deeper into a place Hell could only begin to imagine…because here, they are together, honest.

 

It’s the only small shred of mercy Michael ever shows him, even if it’s just to break him that much more when it ends.

  
  



	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to thank everyone for all the feedback. I would love to hear what people are thinking as they are reading this and if you are not leaving kudos or comments, I would honestly like to see what your thinking too.   
> I hope that Chapter 4 holds up to the events of Ch 2, and that the writing can show you all the images I have been seeing this week! <3   
> ~S.M

Sam doesn’t remember leaving the Impala…which can only mean one thing--   
  
Cas put him to bed. That’s a little embarrassing...   
  
Squinting against the red lights of his alarm clock, the numbers are like a fiery angry afternoon glare. Sam hisses at the pain that goes shooting from his optic nerve to the rest of his skull like a bolt of lightning.   
  
“Fuck.”   
  
Sam buries his face into his pillow and pulls the blanket over his head. A hangover is just what he needed on top of everything else.    
  
He closes his eyes and swallows roughly, waiting for the nausea to pass.   
  
Maybe, he thinks, if he’s really, really lucky, just this once he won’t have to leave his bed today. After all, he should be entitled to tell the world to fuck off once in a while, he must have earned enough ‘get out of destruction free’ cards by now. How many times does one have to save the damn thing before it cuts him some damn slack, anyways?   
  
Sam groans and pulls a second pillow over his head just for good measure and listens to the nothingness of the room he’s locked himself in. The linens smell like apples from his last shower, and he breathes it in like nothing has ever been sweeter. His eyes are growing heavy a second time when someone knocks at the door. Sam tightens the blanket around himself and ignores it.   
  
The next knock is followed by the lock disengaging, and Sam could honestly kill whoever it is. He just doesn’t care anymore about containing the grief and rage inside of himself. Not today, and maybe at this rate, not tomorrow.   
  
“Get out of my room,” he growls, fingers tempted to reach for his gun and shoot, despite what type of creature might be in his space, human or not. His anger is met with a chuckle rather than the sound of someone retreating.    
  
“I brought you coffee, Samuel. Is that any way to treat someone who came bearing gifts of sobriety and alertness?” Rowena coos, “Tsk tsk, I only came to make you right as rain, after all.”   
  
Sam sighs as the bed sinks near his feet. Who said he wanted to be any of those things? He certainly doesn’t, and it comes out rather pathetically with a small muffled, “Go away, Rowena…please.” 

 

Rowena frowns at the large over sized lump in the middle of the bed. Resting a hand on Sam’s knee, she leans over to set the coffee beside the clock before standing.   
  
“Well, if coffee isn’t going to do it, I guess I’ll need a new tactic.” 

 

Sam makes a bitch face, unsure of all the scenarios that could possibly entail. He doesn’t get to contemplate it long, however, because the next thing Sam knows, Rowena’s suddenly joined him under his fortress of solitude. She’s literally in his bed, under his blankets.   
  
He definitely wasn’t expecting that.   
  
Sam stares into the dark under his pillow as sadness sweeps through his chest. He doesn’t want to talk about this, not to Rowena, not to Cas or Jack. Not to anyone.    
  
“Samuel…” He knows that tone. She isn’t going to leave anytime soon. Figures. Why were all the redheads in his life so wild and stubborn?    
  
Sam pulls the pillow off of his head, rearranging it under his bed head with annoyance. For a while he just admires her eyes across from him, the way her fiery curls frame her face, her hair still so red even under the little space he’s carved away from reality for now.   
  
“Talk to me. Tell Rowena what’s going on in that big Moosey brain of yours.” She gently presses one well manicured purple nail against the tip of his nose in a way Sam swears is almost oddly affectionate.   
  
This is weird, he realizes, just like how easy the Lucifer conversation had flowed waiting in the car. Aside from that...where does he even begin to start  _ that _ conversation?   
  
“I just keep pushing it down,” he had said, “It still keeps me up at night.”   
  
He’s so sick of having to be strong when Dean goes missing, of answering the door when something else is on the doorstep, so to speak.    
  
Dying and coming back by Lucifer's hand changed his view of the chessboard and Sam doesn’t want to play this game anymore. He is so sick of always and forever being scared of Lucifer, for every moment, every second. For worrying about what happens next and which one of them will be the Queen that takes the fall.    
  
He just doesn’t want to be afraid anymore of Lucifer, of anything that could come next. What was the point of winning if they never got to enjoy it? What was the point of fighting so hard to have a family if it never stayed together long enough to make any decent memories outside of work?   
  
“Stop calling me that. It’s Sam,” he huffs, stomach rolling at the thought of Lucifer’s true face as it surfaces again, the way his grace had felt when he revived him, the way his soul had literally screamed for remembering its touch.   
  
Rowena studies him, his face unmatching to the fear she can see rolling around inside his head. All those thoughts, always so busy.  Such intelligence, wasted she used to think on this life--and yet without him, neither of them would have gotten this far.    
  
Damn Winchesters.   
  
Reaching out, Sam’s eyes close as the soft pads of her fingers stroke his temple, softly dragging a few strands of hair from his face where they’ve fallen.   
  
“Slànachadh,” she whispers, a warmth spreading from the strands of his hair, like electrical shocks down his skin and spine. There's an energy in her speech as it fills every part of him, flows through his entire core.   
  
It doesn’t feel like the demon blood had been, the power isn’t the same. It isn’t like having an angel reside inside his skin or the way Castiel’s grace reaches to him when he heals him. This is different, it’s a new sort of warm, and comforting even. Sam opens his eyes to see her smiling at him, eyes full of something dangerously like affection. “Better?”   
  
Sam brings up his free hand to brush his hair away. He clears his throat, the scratchiness from too much whiskey and his nightly chill gone. The headache he’s had for weeks since Dean left, the ache in his back from tension--it’s just all gone.   
  
Like someone opened the bird cage and gave him back his wings.   
  
“That’s pretty amazing…” he says, exasperated. Rowena gives him a face that says “I know.” 

For the first time in a while he finds himself chuckling softly.   
  
It’s both funny and painful that sometimes Sam fails to see how things really are until it’s almost too late. Why did crisis always have to make everything else so crystal clear?   
  
“My goodness, Sam. Is that an actual laugh I hear coming from you?” 

 

Sam rolls his eyes, reaching across the space between them to pull her closer. Her hair smells like lavender as it brushes his chin, and her small frame against the front of his cotton t-shirt stiffens as her hands twisting in its fabric. “Shut up…and thank you--for everything, Rowena. Really. And I’m sorry about all of this, and…for circumstances that keep forcing you to make hard decisions.”   
  
Sam can feel his heart beating against his ribs when Rowena trembles but says nothing. He half expected to get blasted, slapped even, but instead she’s quiet. Sam closes his eyes, lips brushing against her forehead.   
  
“I’m starting to understand that not everything comes down to good and evil being in perfect balance…I’m sorry about Crowley, I’m sorry about Lucifer, and I’m sorry about Gabriel. I’m sorry everything comes down to survival, and never thank you. I’ve been really rude, despite having you pull through for us, even if the situations were messy. Since losing Crowley and Gabriel, I’m starting to realize it isn’t about any of the other stuff, it’s about who's in your corner when everything goes to shit…” Sam swallows the lump forming in his throat and lifts Rowena’s head from his chest. Her eyes are damp even in the shadow of where they are, tucked away and alone.   
  
There's no judgment here, just understanding. Something that should have been said sooner. After all she’s here, still helping him prep for a fight. To get Dean back, save him, again.   
  
“What are you trying to say, Sam? Have you finally lost some marbles in that head of yours?” Her voice is shaking as Sam fixes her hair where he messed it in his gesture.   
  
“Family doesn’t end in blood, Rowena…” And not a single part of him regretted saying it. As far as Sam was concerned, he could at least trust her to be honest, more honest than any of those faces outside the door from that other place.   
  
He was in her corner and she deserved to know it.   
  
“You Winchesters,” she replied, eyes cast away from his, “You’re so damn meddlesome and annoying. I was always giving Fergus so much grief, so much anger, but in the end he gets the last laugh, doesn’t he? Here I am with herbal coffee and spells of white magic…laying in the bed of none other than Lucifer’s true vessel, understanding now why Gabriel had trouble staying away, how he got sucked in, too...” Rowena’s hands fall to her lap as her head lowers, eyes twisted shut. 

  
Sam frowns, “Rowena, I...” He falters, chest tight again at the thought of Gabriel. Why was everything always so complicated? Couldn’t the people he cared about just…stay?   
  
“I’m sorry, too,” she whispers, grabbing his attention as he looks at her again. He’s just about to ask her what she could possibly be sorry for when all at once he understands.   
  
Their lips meet, and in a single moment the world feels like maybe it could just let him have this moment rather than take it from him.   
  
It should probably be wrong, he realizes, but today Sam is done with lines drawn in the sand. Rowena is in his corner, Rowena understands him in ways nobody ever will.   
  
Maybe having Lucifer in common could finally create something positive.   
  
Sam threads his fingers into Rowena’s curls and closes his eyes. Her nails lightly scratch him as she tosses back the blankets and pulls his t-shirt over his head. Sam rolls her into the mattress, breaking their kiss as he lets her hair fall around the pillow.   
  
“Sealltainn dhomh do bhodhaig, Sam. Sealltainn dhomh ciamar a bhios mi coibhneil.”   
  
He can at least give her this moment to know she wasn’t always what people thought of her, what the world had given her. That he was grateful, that she was welcome here.   
  
And in a strange way that comes with the hunting life, maybe she was even loved just a little in circumstance.   
  
Sam kisses her like the world could end tomorrow.   
  
And for all he knows, it might.   
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation via google:  
> 1\. Heal  
> 2\. Show me see your body Sam, show me how to be kind.


	4. Chapter 4 and 1/4 ;)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry this is short, but because things are taken a little longer than anticipated-- you get a teaser.

At his feet Castiel’s eyes are a brilliant crystal blue hue... but completely void.

 

The blood on his hands is still warm, both of them somehow still and steady.

 

How many times had he done this now that he would no longer tremble?.

 

How many more times was he going to kiss the warmth from this figments lips, beg for its fake voice and promises that could never be real? Things that could never be indulged?.

 

Dean closes his eyes and lets his fingers release Cas’.

 

“Giving up so soon Dean?” Micheal appears where Cas was laying, broad-shouldered, sneering. He flickers into something new, something familiar. Dean can feel himself already start to submit.

 

Young John Winchester.

 

A version of Dad.

 

Dean hangs his head. “I can’t do this anymore...”

 

Micheal, the one who sometimes still worries him in his dreams about brainwashing Cas, hurting Sam to get to Lucifer, or himself. That Micheal tilts his head now, studies him as the red stained walls and broken plaster of his once tidy Bunker bedroom fade into a void of surrounding shadows.

 

“But you always seem so into your domestic _bliss..._ ” Micheal says it with a sneer.

 

Dean used to want to wipe that smug look right off his face, but now… now he just cannot bring himself to care.

 

Who knows how long it took him this time to break.

 

Was it faster than hell had been?.

 

Days, weeks, months?.

 

After all, Dean didn’t even know the day of the week anymore. Time was funny stuck in the soap opera of his tormented head. Strangled by his feelings. Suffocated by his past guilt, by the new ones Micheal had created despite them being fake.

 

He’d been done before, but now, after tasting the bliss, almost forgetting it wasn’t real, after Cas’ death and Jack, his Mom and all the shit with Sam and Lucifer bringing him back, Gabriel….

 

What was the point of pretending anymore?.

 

“You win Micheal, just … get it over with”

 

Falling to his knees Dean hangs his head. _Begs._

 

At least Sam and Cas cannot see him now.

 

Micheal kisses his temple, the sight of his wicked smile as he pets his hair doesn’t even turn Dean’s stomach anymore.

 

“Killing you would be giving you what you want Dean, I’m not in the habit of showing mercy...” Micheal grasps his jaw, forcing Dean to meet his eyes as they glow brightly, “Besides, if this no longer leaves me filling fulfilled as you fall apart and cry into Castiel’s hair than I guess it’s time for the real deal don’t you think?”

 

“You're a monster!” Dean hisses between throbbing teeth, surprised at how somewhere inside of him he really began to think Castiel was dead. Worry that Micheal had already hurt him, Sam. All of them.

 

That may be help wasn’t coming.

 

“It takes one to know one Dean, and you cannot even begin to deny the scaring on your pathetic soul”

 

Closing his eyes, Dean pictures sapphire blue eyes, the smell of ozone on an old trenchcoat and a worn down barn in the dead of night.

 

Cas isn’t dead. That means Sam probably isn’t either.

 

“ _You don’t think you deserved to be saved.”_

 

His heart begins to pound in his ears, and for a single moment, Micheal looks pained.

 

“Your hope cannot save you, your faith in Castiel is useless” The Angel hisses, and Dean begins to smile fondly.

 

“ _I love you. I love you all”_

 

“I’m betting on Cas, whether I deserve it or not.. and it has nothing to do with faith. It never has.”

 

 

 


End file.
